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Pici with sausage ragù

On a plane ride to Rome a few years back, I took Julia Child’s
“My Life in France” with me to read. It was one of those books that was so good
that it made the trip go by much faster, and for this I was grateful. I was
however shocked when I arrived at Julia’s assessment of Italian food, contained
in a few sentences a little over halfway through the book. Julia, the queen of
French cuisine, had traveled to Italy, where she deemed the sauces “boring” and
the food too “simple,” declaring that “the food didn’t strike me as anything
special…it didn’t have much finesse.” I remember feeling slightly betrayed –
after all, I had spent the past two days reading about Julia’s adventures with
French food, how she had fallen in love with cooking and built her repertoire
of recipes. I had in some way identified with her – I felt the same way, but
about Italian food! I had imagined Julia would embrace and celebrate Italian
food the way I had After all, in my mind Italian
food was even better than French food – how could she not love it?! To hear her
insult my polenta,
my pasta e fagioli,
and my amatriciana
was unthinkable. Julia had disappointed me.

Though Italian and French cuisines are arguably the best two
cuisines in the world, they couldn’t be more different. French food is
complicated, defined by the large quantities of cream and butter it calls for,
not to mention fancy sauces and recipes like anglaise, bearnaise, béchamel, veloutés, choux, and soufflés,
to name just a few. Italian food on the other hand is simple and
straightforward, relying the idea that if you’re already using the best
ingredients, there is no need to complicate them with any complex sauces or
preparations. In short, you are very rarely left guessing about what is on your
plate. What Julia seemed to dislike so much about Italian food is what I happen
to love about it: so many recipes in Italian cuisine have minimal ingredients
and simple preparations, making this cuisine not only delicious but also
approachable. At the end of the day of course, it just comes down to preference
– complex and elegant or simple and fresh?

Now to today’s post, for a recipe that exemplifies the sort of
simplicity of Italian cuisine that I have come to love. This delicious ragù
comes together to make an amazing dish with minimal effort, with a certain
depth and richness of flavor that makes it seem like it has been simmering for
hours. A note on the type of pasta I used here -- pici (pronounced pee-chee) is a
cut of pasta typically found in Siena, which I visited for the first time in
November. Pici are
sort of a cross between spaghetti and bucatini, thick
like bucatini,
but without the hole in the middle. The senesi (people of
Siena) prepare pici
a few different ways. They can be served all’aglione,
which is with tomatoes and garlic, with mushrooms, with bread crumbs, or with
sausage (again, all extremely simple but delicious preparations!)

I’m not sure Julia Child would have approved of this – there are
only 7 ingredients counting the cheese, and it’s not nearly as complex as the
French beef bourguignon,
or crème brulee -- but that’s just fine with me.

Heat the olive oil in a large skillet over medium low heat.
Sauté the sausage in the pan, breaking it up well with a wooden spoon, until
browned and cooked throughout. Transfer the sausage to a plate lined with paper
towels using a slotted spoon. Drain the extra fat off the pan, then add the
chopped onion and sauté until it is soft and translucent. Add the sausage back
to the pan and combine with the onion. Add the white wine and let it cook down,
about 3-4 minutes. Finally, add the crushed tomatoes and stir everything
around. Let the sauce come to a boil and then reduce to a bubble. Let it cook
over low heat for about 30 minutes, or until it has thickened slightly.

When the sauce is almost done cooking, cook your pici according
to package instructions. Season the sauce to taste with salt and pepper, and
serve over the pasta with lots of freshly grated parmesan cheese. Serves 4-6.